Don't Give It Up
by xgraciela
Summary: One moment, you're a top person with a great reputation and a few seconds later you're a cripple... As always: H/W friendship, a dose of hurt/comfort and a pack of angst. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

After an exhausting day in the hospital, Wilson pulled his car up in front of House's apartment. The rain was slowly changing to ice on the cold asphalt and Wilson was glad to be already here. He expected another night on House's couch, but he didn't mind, anything was better than driving a long way in this weather.

House cursed when his cane slipped and he almost felt down. "Damn! I bet the landlady used the salt for her sea-baths instead of the pavement!"

Wilson couldn't help but smile, and locked his car. He caught up with House and they were both slowly nearing the doorsteps. Then suddenly Wilson's foot slipped on the ice and he lost his balance.

As he was falling, he automatically grabbed something for a support and unfortunately, that support was House's arm. It could have only one conclusion. They both fell into a big heap.

"Fuck! Wilson, you idiot! What are you doing? Cripple here, got it?!" House scrambled to his feet hastily and looked for his cane, which was lying a few feet away.

Something wasn't right.

Wilson didn't protest at all, and he wasn't picking himself up. House's leg was killing him and he hissed when he moved himself closer towards his friend.

"Don't try this, okay? It's not funny and I'm still pissed." House snapped, but continued in a softer tone, "Next time use something else to hold yourself upright, than your cripple friend's arm." No response. So House tried it again and poked his friend rather less than gently with his cane. "Stand up! I'm not going to bite you. You can make it better by buying me lunch tomorrow."

_Shit..._Wilson wasn't moving. House cursed and kneeled back down to rotate him. Then it was clear, that Wilson was unconscious.

"Damn! You're an idiot!" House slapped his friend gently onto his cheek and Wilson stirred slightly in response. Only a small cut above Wilson's brow pronounced that he had probably hit himself on the head.

"Oww.." Wilson hissed and grimaced from the pain. House only now noticed that Wilson's left arm was curled under him in an odd angle.

"Lay still you moron, I'm trying to examine you." House ran his hands gently over Wilson's body, but didn't find any major injuries. His friend had only a few scrapes, but House was more concerned about his left hand. He drew it slowly and carefully from its place under Wilson's back.

Wilson whined and closed his eyes quickly as the pain stabbed him. There was no doubt that the wrist was broken, but House couldn't tell how severe. He laid the hand gently down on the cold concrete and fished the penlight from his pocket. Wilson winced, but House managed to check both of his pupils to confirm that nothing serious had happened to Wilson's head.

"It's not a concussion." He stated. "Can you get up?"

Wilson looked at him with a hurt look.

"I'm not picking you up and we should get your hand under an x-ray very soon." House pointed at Wilson's left wrist and he paused. "And lying there on the cold ground isn't doing you much better either." He continued.

He got one slow nod from Wilson in response and his friend started to pick himself up. House grabbed his cane and got to his feet as well. He grimaced when his thigh gave him a clear message that it hadn't enjoyed all the strain.

Wilson caught the look on House's face and started to feel guilty. "I'm sorry.." He took a breath to say something more, but was cut off by House.

"Yeah, I know. Try not to pull me with you next time, okay?" House snapped but he couldn't bear that hurt look on Wilson's face, so he shut up for now.

"Come on! We need to get you back into the hospital." House pointed at Wilson's car, parked on the side of the street. "I assume you won't mind me driving, am I right?" He smirked.

Wilson only nodded and fished for his keys with his - now better - right hand.

* * *

Wilson shivered when the x-ray above him moved and stopped. They gave him the pain meds, but he didn't feel well. His wrist was numb and he felt a little bit claustrophobic under this colossal machine.

However, he waited patiently for the machine to stop moving and to finish its work. Then he was allowed to lie down in a hospital room, which Cuddy had managed to get for him in an amazingly short time.

To Wilson's slight surprise, House was acting rather supportive and followed him all the way. Now he was sitting in the chair, legs propped on Wilson's bed and they were both waiting for the radiology to send the images.

"Does it hurt?" House asked casually and pointed at Wilson's hand. It was lying on the pillow and the wrist was swollen slightly. A big purple bruise was forming in the area.

Due to his IV medication, pain was the last thing which concerned Wilson right now, but he knew that House _measured_ his life by pain. "No. It's pretty numb," he mumbled. Wilson could see something foreign in House's eyes. Was it concern? He didn't know and it didn't matter. He was simply glad that he wasn't alone in the room.

"Looks bad, huh?" House pointed at Wilson's hand again. "Can you move it?"

Wilson though for a while but then shrugged. "I don't know, but I also don't want to try it." He answered slowly.

House nodded and they fell silent again.

"I really know how to ruin the evening, don't I?" Wilson asked after a while, turning his head towards House.

"Nah," House waved his hand, "wouldn't be much fun at home. This is better!" He smirked and Wilson smiled too, but only slightly.

After a short while a young doctor emerged from the door. She was holding a large envelope, probably with Wilson's x-ray pictures in it.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Jones and I'm taking your case Dr. Wilson." She glanced at House but he kept his mouth shut and let her talk.

She pulled the x-rays out of the envelope and fastened them onto the shining board. "Here," she pointed at the picture, "as you can see both your capitatum and hamatum are broken in multiple places, and I'm worried about the nerves. The pieces of bone are just everywhere and they could have done some damage."

House got up slowly and limped towards her to see the pictures with his own eyes. When he got close enough, he cursed inertly. The bones were totally smashed up. It would need a very good neurosurgeon. He glanced at Jones and checked her over with his eyes. She couldn't be more than thirty.

"Wilson, you really can fall down and get yourself into the trouble..." House stated still with the slight smirk on his face. Wilson rolled his eyes and House turned back towards the young doctor. "You're going to do the surgery?" He asked almost disbelievingly.

"You...want someone else?" Jones stammered and felt the redness on her cheeks.

"I didn't say that." House snapped but he evidently wasn't very pleased with her either.

"I've read your books and articles Dr. House. I respect you as a very good doctor. If you don't want me here, just say so." She said simply.

Both Wilson and House threw surprised glances on her. Wilson smirked a little, because this woman did the right thing to boost House's ego. Now, she had her place guaranteed.

"Hey, would you mind asking me?" Wilson mixed himself into the conversation. He was numb due to the meds, but he felt that this woman was capable.

House and Jones stopped staring into each other's eyes and looked at Wilson instead. "Well?" She asked.

"Go ahead. You're good, I'm sure." He encouraged her.

She smiled and her cheeks blushed again, but only very slightly. She quickly switched to the professional mode. "Ok. I think we should do the surgery as soon as possible. I'll find a room for you and I'll send a nurse here to prep you."

Wilson nodded and closed his eyes when she left. House shifted closer to the bed and sat down again, this time onto the bed instead of the chair.

He threw the blanket away and Wilson protested immediately. "What--"

"Hot pants! I knew it." House smirked and put the blanket back down. Wilson blushed. "House, stop this, please." He whined.

"Looks bad." House pointed at Wilson's hand.

"I know," Wilson answered in a tired voice.

"Bad thing is you won't be able to open the beer bottles for a couple of weeks." House said dramatically and Wilson couldn't suppress a laugh.

"Oh yes, that's it, I think the life will be terrible." He answered.

A nurse came in, interrupting their conversation. "Dr. Wilson? I should prepare you for the surgery." She put down her tray with the sedatives and helped Wilson to change into the surgical gown.

A few minutes later, the nurse was slowly pushing Wilson's bed out of the room and in his drug-induced state, Wilson was only slightly aware of House's figure, which was limping slowly behind them.

They stopped by the elevator. "Sweet dreams, darling!" House smirked and waved with his hand at his friend. He was already limping away when the lift beeped and Wilson closed his eyes, smiling.

**_tbc..._**

* * *

_ I hope you like the beginning : ) Comments are love!_


	2. Chapter 2

Wilson lay peacefully in his hospital bed. The oxymeter was attached to his forefinger on his right hand as was the IV line, because his left hand was carefully bandaged and propped on the pillow.

The surgery went fine, but the prognosis was not good. There were many torn ligaments and Dr. Jones was really worried about the nerve function. They had also put two metal plates into Wilson's hand to hold the broken bones together.

The blood circulation was good in the fingers, but no one could tell if they would function as well as before.

House came into his friend's room and sank down into the cold plastic chair again. Wilson didn't know any of his prognosis yet and a peaceful sleep was the best thing he could get right now.

Wilson's dishevelled face looked so vulnerable that House didn't know how was he supposed to tell him the truth about his state. It was possible that Wilson's carrier was ruined, and that no one could help or change it. Of course, he could always do consults for the other doctors, but something like surgeries would be out of the question.

House realized, how one silly moment outside on the slippery sidewalk could change someone's life. One moment Wilson was a top oncologist with a great reputation, and a few seconds later he was a cripple.

A slight movement of Wilson's head pulled House out of his thoughts. He moved his chair closer to the bed and waited for Wilson to wake up.

It came quickly along with those brown, deep puppy eyes and a questioning look on his face.

"Hey," House said a little bit too loudly.

Wilson didn't answer and only licked his lips, because his mouth seemed to be on fire. House got the hint and poured a glass of cold water from the pitcher standing on the bedside table. He held it close to Wilson's mouth and allowed him to take a few sips through the straw. "Better?" He asked when he put the glass back down.

Wilson nodded and coughed a little. "How..." he sounded harsh and had to cough one more time to make his voice bearable. "How...did it go?" He asked slowly. It was the only thing which held his interest right now.

House sighed and considered how to start. "Well, you are going to look like an idiot, when someone will feed you." He smirked but didn't feel amused. His usual jokes didn't seem to lighten the situation.

"House!" Wilson croaked with his, still hoarse, voice and threw his friend a warning glare.

"Okay. The surgery went fine, they didn't leave anything in." House couldn't help it, but he just couldn't be serious, because being serious meant the truth would come and he wasn't sure if he wanted it.

Wilson only sighed this time and closed his eyes exhaustedly. House had to use some of his hidden strength to say the next sentence.

"What do you want to hear? It went fine. They've braced the bones but we have to wait to see if you can play a doctor again." House's face didn't change.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Wilson asked carefully. "You're usually not so afraid to tell the truth." Wilson's voice was sad and it stabbed House right into his heart.

He shook his head. "They don't give your hand many promises. There is a possibility that the damage is permanent." House couldn't look at Wilson's face right now, so he just lowered his head and braced his forehead on his cane.

Wilson didn't answer for a while; he just sank into his pillow and stared on the ceiling.

"Jones," House spoke slowly, "will be there soon to check on you." He didn't know what else to say.

" 'Kay," Wilson replied quietly and started to stare at his left hand instead. "Why don't you get up and bring me something to read?" He asked after the next few minutes of silence.

House was surprised by the sudden change of the theme, but just shrugged and left the room to find some magazines for his friend. It was clear that Wilson wanted to be alone.

When he got back, Dr. Jones was already there. She was gently examining Wilson's hand, slowly rising and lowering each finger. Many times she got a hiss or a painful grimace from Wilson in response.

House threw the magazines onto the table and lowered himself back into his chair. However, his eyes were glued to the young doctor in the room.

"Dr. House," she said, "I was just checking Dr. Wilson. Everything seems to be okay, now we need to wait for the bones to heal." She patted Wilson's hand gently and laid it back on its place on the top of the pillow.

She was already about to leave when Wilson finally asked. "Dr. Jones?" She turned around and smiled at him. "Yes?"

"I...," Wilson stammered, "will there be a permanent damage?" The question was asked slowly and it hurt House in his ears.

She nodded that she understood the question. "You're a doctor as well. You know, I don't know for sure. The nerves can heal perfectly or not. It's too early to tell the diagnosis. We have to wait." She smiled again and her smile seemed to lighten the situation in the room a little.

"Don't worry about it right now, in four or five weeks, we'll put this down," she pointed at the sling, "and then we'll see. A good rehab can do a miracle too." This time she patted him encouragingly onto the shoulder. "I'll see you soon." And Dr. Jones left the room.

"Brought you the magazines." House said and pointed to the stack of papers on the bedside table.

"Yeah. Thank you." But Wilson seemed very distressed and House didn't know how to help him. He looked round in the room to find something to change the theme. His eyes spotted the TV screen.

"You're lucky. Nice TV, and I'm sure it has cable." He smirked and watched Wilson for any changes.

Wilson woke up from his lethargy. "What?" It took him a moment to realize what was House talking about. "Oh yes, I think you'll be impossible to get rid of." He tried to joke along with House but failed, because his expression was still miserable.

"Okay, let's try it." House said and limped towards the screen to turn it on.

It didn't last long and Wilson really almost forgot his trouble and laughed with House, but a few minutes later he fell asleep, because he was still exhausted from the surgery. House only smirked and propped his legs onto the bed. His little plan with the TV worked and Wilson was sleeping calmly for now.

* * *

Thanks for reading, I hope you like this part!


	3. Chapter 3

After a few days, Wilson was allowed to go home. Only problem was that he didn't have a real_ home_.

"You can always stay with me." House suggested matter-of-factly but couldn't miss the change on Wilson face - he bloomed.

Later that afternoon he picked Wilson up. He was very happy to do it, because Cuddy had allowed him to leave the hospital early. Together with Wilson they went to the parking lot and got into House's car.

"Another day at hospital and the nurses would make you their king." House started the next set of his comments when they pulled up in front of his apartment.

He was pestering Wilson with them the whole way from the hospital and Wilson seemed to have had just about enough.

"House, just leave me alone, okay?" He was furious and had no intention to listen to all House's stupid jokes and remarks. From the time when they left the hospital and until they arrived at House's apartment he felt the argument building between them and he couldn't help it.

"Maybe you could respect the fact that I'm still sick and not in a very good mood." Wilson snapped in a harsh voice.

"No way! You're maybe more crippled than me now, but it doesn't mean that I can't say or do what I want. Besides we don't know if you're permanent." House snapped. How could Wilson be so bothersome? After all, House was only trying with his remarks to help him to feel better. He unlocked the door and threw his jacket in the opposite corner of the room. He was leaning on his cane a lot more heavily than usual.

Of course he felt sorry for Wilson, but who didn't? The whole hospital felt sorry for him, everyone wanted to show his concern, to show that he cared. And House was already sick of all that crap. Wilson was hurt, yes, but he wasn't dying, was he? House would never admit it, but maybe he was even a little bit jealous. Was it possible?

Wilson stopped, turned around and stared at his friend. Then he started to gently probe the fingers on his injured hand. When he lifted the middle finger, he hissed with pain, grimacing.

"Don't play that hurt look on me. It won't help you to get my bed." House tried to joke one more time to lighten the situation and limped slowly towards the kitchen. He grabbed two beers and returned to the couch. He found Wilson sitting there already, his left hand propped carefully on the stack of the pillows.

"Move your legs!"

Wilson shifted, making space for House to sit down. House sighed, handing one bottle to Wilson, who took it almost gratefully and sipped the beer. Their previous banter was slowly forgotten and they stayed on the couch all the evening, watching TV shows and movies. They weren't speaking or joking much though. Everything seemed like an evening in an old couple's house.

About eleven Wilson got up and moved into the bathroom. House shot a glance onto his friend's back and frowned. Those weeks with Wilson at home would be hard. But Wilson needed help right now and House was sort of determined to give it to him. Neither of them was speaking about it, but they both remembered quite clearly how Wilson had taken care of House when he had needed it after his infarction.

House gave his attention back to the TV screen and enjoyed some night show. It didn't last more than five minutes and he heard a slight thump from the bathroom, followed by a quiet hiss. _Shit!_

House got up from the couch quickly and limped as fast as he could towards the bath. "Wilson!? What have you done now?" There was no answer and House's worries grew up. He opened the door quickly, not asking if he could go in.

His heart sank when he found Wilson. His friend wasn't, _thank God_, injured, but he was slumped in the bathtub, leaning onto its side, his left arm hanging out like some odd decoration. House couldn't tell if he was crying, because the water was all over his face, but he definitely looked the most miserably like House had ever seen him.

"Wilson? What's wrong?" House wanted to sound casual and harsh, but somehow his voice betrayed him and he sounded more softly and concerned. He neared himself slowly to Wilson and leaned onto the tub. His friend still didn't answer any question. He only sucked in a deep breath and shivered.

House just stopped the water and waited for Wilson to say or do something.

After an incredibly long time for both of them (in fact it was only a few minutes), Wilson gathered enough strength to speak.

"Was tryin' to wash myself..." He stated very slowly and quietly. House only nodded. He'd never been good at emotional stuff, but for Wilson he could at least try and not break the moment.

"Couldn't.." The next pause. "I couldn't even wash myself. How am I supposed to do my job?" He sniffed and turned his head away.

For House this all was weird. He had never seen Wilson like this in their whole friendship. He didn't know what to say. All things seemed so unimportant now...

"Come on, it'll heal and you'll be the Boy Wonder again," he smirked but in fact, he didn't feel like smirking at all.

Wilson shook his head. "You don't know that," he said sadly and examined his fingers again, moving them slightly and grimacing his face by the procedure.

"You can always do consults..." House didn't sound like himself. This conversation had to come, he had known it from the time when Wilson had woken up from the anesthesia, but he never was and never would be prepared for it.

"I don't want to consult! I want to do my job, to do surgeries, biopsies...I can't _live_ without it!" Wilson suddenly sounded very angry although he really didn't have a reason right now. He even supported his words with a wave of his hand.

House felt his patience slowly draining away. He didn't say anything bad though and still tried to somehow support his friend. "Come on, stop talking like this, you don't know if it's permanent," he pointed at Wilson's hand, "let's get you out of the tub and dry you off a little." House suggested because his leg wasn't enjoying his position on the cold, hard floor and he would rather continue this conversation somewhere more comfortable for both of them.

"Oh don't be ridiculous House! You know how little chance is there that it will heal back to the full function! I'll be glad if I can even write my name down!" Wilson was almost shouting now, his voice full of rage and hate.

"Ok, it's enough, you need to calm down, come on." House turned himself around to get a towel for his friend. When he turned back, Wilson was already standing and House wondered how could Wilson manage to stand up in such a short time.

_Everything_ went too fast.

"I don't need to calm down House!" Wilson shouted and thrust out his right hand. In a split second it landed on House's face. He stumbled, threw the towel on the floor and grabbed his nose quickly. Golden stars were dancing in front of his eyes and he even swayed a little. It wasn't any slight blow. "Wha--?" He stammered and stared at Wilson through the stars, trying to fight them of with blinking.

Wilson was just moving his eyes between his right hand and House's face, blinking several times and not saying a word. He'd never punched House, never, and guilt was already building its way up to his mind.

"Fine! I don't need this!" House hissed and left the bathroom incredibly quickly for his leg. In the living room he grabbed his pill bottle, his jacket and the helmet and left the apartment so quickly that he forgot even his cane.

"House! Wait! I'm sorry!" Wilson was yelling from the bathroom and was trying unsuccessfully to dry himself up with the towel. He reached the living room, only with that towel around his waist. There was a hard blow as House slammed the door behind him with rage. Wilson stared at the door for a long moment, until he started to shiver slightly.

He went slowly to the bedroom, where was laying his trunk with clothes, and dressed himself up. He returned to the living room, slid into the couch and hid his face in his right hand. The whole bathroom conversation was slurred into a one fogged memory, but then came the punch and he could see House's eyes full of disbelief and hurt in front of him.

Wilson hated himself immediately after his outburst, and then House wasn't listening to him when he was apologizing. He just left and it was terrible.

He stayed on the couch till almost midnight and still House wasn't there. Wilson started to worry about his friend. He looked outside and it was snowing again. His stomach clenched at the thought of House driving his bike right now, only God knew where.

His eyes spotted the cane, which was still lying on the floor, where House had left it. The worst thing was that he couldn't do anything about it, and that he knew he was responsible for the whole situation. If he only could set the time back...

By those thoughts he played mindlessly with his fingers on the left hand again. Every movement with them was a painful experience, but he just felt like he wanted it, felt like being punished was what deserved right now.

He sat like this for the next twenty minutes. Then he was too exhausted to care and dragged himself to a lying position, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. He could only hope that House would be okay. Even his friend's cell phone was left at home. Well, not that House would leave it 'on' even if he took it.

Wilson drew in a shuddering breath and let himself fall asleep.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Wilson woke up after hours of nightmares. A quick glance at the watch told him that it was 5.36 in the morning. His hand hurt like the hell and he seriously started thinking about taking some pain meds, which Jones had prescribed him.

He stood up and went slowly towards the bathroom. When he was almost there his eyes spotted on something ball-shaped on the ground. He blinked a few times, because the room was dark and his eyes didn't see much. However, there was no doubt, it _was_ House's helmet.

He smiled and changed his destination to House's bedroom. He tiptoed to the door, which were left slightly open. One quick glance inside made him smile even more and all his worries fell back from his shoulders. House was sleeping very peacefully in his bed, facing away from the door, pill bottle standing on the bedside table. Wilson set the door ajar again and released a breath which he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With the smile still on his face he continued his way back to the bathroom. House had probably just needed his time to cool off and to come back home. Wilson was happy, that House was back, but his hand still hurt and he didn't want to face the future.

* * *

House was woken up by the comfortable scent filling up his nostrils. He looked around himself and realized that it was already almost noon. He forgot the aroma for a while and groaned when he remembered his fight with Wilson the last night.

He sighed. It would be hard to stay with him and with his moods, but House was sure that he, himself, wasn't much better after his infarction. House was also a one of the few people, who could really tell what was Wilson going through. Still, House's leg wasn't making his job impossible; it was only making it _harder_.

He popped his morning-pill and gave his attention back to the aroma, which was slowly filling the whole room. _Pancakes._

No way. Wilson couldn't cook only with his right hand! House scrambled to his feet and limped slowly towards the kitchen to see the miracle with his own eyes. And really, his friend was standing by the oven and was - very awkwardly but effectively - frying the pancakes. There was already a small pile of finished pieces on the plate beside him.

"Wow! Why do you want so desperately to be a doctor? You can always cook for a living!" House called from the door.

Wilson twitched and dropped the pancake, which he was holding with the fork. He turned around to find House, leaning onto the doorframe with tousled hair but also with a smirk on his face. _Good!_

He smiled back and took the pancake out of the pan, this time with success. "House, I..." He couldn't continue, because he didn't know how.

"Don't you think that you can make it up by me by preparing one breakfast?" House asked and made his face serious again.

Wilson shook his head and then lowered it. It hurt but he knew that House had a full right to say all those things. He turned off the oven and looked like if he was going to cry. "I'm sorry." He mumbled in a whiny voice.

"I know, forget it." House said resolutely, making his way towards the table.

Wilson turned around, startled. He didn't know what to think or say. "I didn't mean it. I didn't want to--" He was cut off.

"Just forget it and give me the damn pancakes already!" House smirked again and looked at Wilson with wicked eyes.

Wilson got the clue, but only after a few seconds. "You bastard!" He smiled back and shook his head in disbelief. Then he finally put the plate in front of House.

* * *

Later that afternoon they were sitting on the couch again and watching something from House's TiVo. Neither of them mentioned the slap. There was no reason to. House knew that Wilson didn't mean it and he didn't want to torture him mentally more than was necessary.

By the movie, House glanced over at his friend a few times. Every time he looked, Wilson was either playing with the fingers on his braced arm or he was just looking at them. House shook his head by the fifth glance at Wilson.

"You're not watching the movie!" He sounded hurt, like if it mattered to watch some stupid movie.

Wilson was silent, but after a while he realized that House had been probably talking to him. "What?"

"The movie! You're not watching it at all. Do you even know what is it about?" House asked again.

"I...no. I was thinking." He answered quietly.

"About your crippled future?" House remarked.

"House!" Wilson gave him the most hurt look in the world.

"Sorry, but stop acting like some drama-queen. You don't even know if it's permanent and you're already planning your future of selling thermometers."

This made Wilson smile a little, but the grin faded away very quickly and he frowned. "But what if it _is_ permanent House?" He was speaking very quietly and his words were nearing sobs. "What am I going to do then?" He faced House, who sighed.

House wondered if they were going to have this type of conversations for the whole weeks ahead of them, before they would put the sling away.

"I don't know." House replied in a solid voice.

* * *

The next days Wilson was still less or more depressed, but then he managed to forget about his worries for a while and for the rest of the month he was acting almost normally. Though, he was still funny when he was trying to eat with his right hand or when he was shortening his tie or even learning to _write_ with his right hand.

However, the day when they were going to remove the sling was drawing near, and Wilson was depressed again. House promised to go with him and Wilson wasn't sure if it was making the fact worse or better.

He had had appointments with Dr. Jones before. Every time she had reassured him that everything had been going normally.

"Don't stare like that." House said when they were standing on the lights. Wilson was staring at nothing again and only God knew what was going through his mind.

"I don't know if I want to know the truth." Wilson mumbled from his seat.

House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, so you're going to leave that on," he pointed at the sling, "and everything will be just fine."

Wilson sighed and they didn't speak for the rest of the ride. House parked the car in the 'handicap space' and they went to the entrance.

Once inside, Wilson started to have some weird feeling in his stomach. It felt like going into the school for the first time, or like the stress before exams.

Dr. Jones awaited them in on of the exam rooms. She allowed Wilson to sit on the edge of the table and she took his hand. House stayed behind them, not sure why he had even promised to come.

"Any troubles in the last week?" She asked Wilson.

He only shook his head and watched her when she professionally removed the brace from the hand and put it away.

"Move your fingers," she ordered.

Wilson took a deep breath and moved his fingers slightly. It caused his whole arm to hurt, but they moved. She nodded her head.

"Flex your hand into the fist."

Wilson tried to fulfill the task, but failed and started to look miserable. Jones only nodded again.

"Hold your hand like this." She showed him her hand with fingers outstretched and pointing to the ceiling. It looked like if she was holding her hands up in the defense.

Wilson managed to bend his wrist, but whined in pain when he did so. Then she took a pen from her pocket and poked Wilson's finger with the bottom of it.

"You feel this?"

Wilson wasn't sure. He felt some slight pressure but he didn't know if it was enough. "Only very slightly," he answered.

"And this?" She ran her finger nail along his palm.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Ok, try to write your name down." She handed him the pen.

He took it but managed only to write a big W down, onto the paper. Then the pen fell down from his hand, because of a spasm. Wilson closed his eyes. This definitely wasn't good. He felt it.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little. He looked up to find House above him.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Wilson asked Dr. Jones in a sad voice. She was making some notes into his chart.

She looked up and smiled. "Bad? Not at all. What were you expecting? After a month of motionlessness, the muscles are a little bit stiff and awkward, but from what I see, the nerves have healed just fine." She kept her smile.

Wilson was staring at her disbelievingly. "But I couldn't even manage to write down my name, how am I supposed to work?"

"Dr. Wilson, don't be so impetuous. Of course you will need some good rehab, but I think your chances are brilliant. Congratulations!"

Wilson was still staring, but just at his hand instead of Jones. House recovered first. "Excuse him, he's just an oncologist. It will be another few minutes before he will get it." He smirked and let go of Wilson's shoulder. He wondered why he had put his hand there, when everything went so fine.

Dr. Jones nodded with a smile, and continued in writing.

When they were leaving the room, Wilson was already smiling like an idiot. House was limping beside him. "Told you."

"What?" Wilson faced him.

"That you would be fine," House answered. "Shame. Now, I'm the only cripple here again."

"House, don't talk like this." Wilson had always hated it when House was talking about himself like about cripple.

"It's true," House replied. "But don't worry. I'm used to it."

Wilson smirked slightly this time, still playing with the little rubber ball, which he had received from Dr. Jones to make his muscles stronger. They were just passing the main door when House suddenly stopped, making Wilson to jerk and stop as well.

"What's wrong?" Wilson asked.

"I have two choices. We can continue and Cuddy will catch me and force me to do clinic. Or we can leave, so I'll be free." He said with a calculating look on his face. "And I think, we also need to celebrate. So what, are you going with me?"

Wilson thought for a moment, but then nodded. House smirked and pointed at Wilson's little ball. "Anyway, picking up the shots is way better than playing with this stupid thing."

End.

* * *

That's it! Couldn't leave Wilson crippled, could I? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! : )


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